


lights out.

by hvrts



Series: say anything. [1]
Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Angst, Feelings, Hopeful Ending, M/M, lots of talking about feelings and stuff, they're both so soft and in love :((
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:08:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22237624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hvrts/pseuds/hvrts
Summary: seonghwa is in love with hongjoong, and hongjoong isn't quite okay with it.
Relationships: Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa
Series: say anything. [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1624024
Comments: 13
Kudos: 112





	lights out.

**Author's Note:**

> hi all :) this is an old fic of mine that i decided to rework into a seongjoong fic, since i'm super soft for them rn. very short. kinda angsty but hopeful towards the end! i truly love them ok bye :")

“are you okay?”

no, hongjoong isn't okay. he's absolutely _not_ okay, and the fact that he's even awake at this time is enough of an answer. but seonghwa asks, anyway.

hongjoong inhales, rubs his hands over his bare face. he writes song lyrics, now, as well as memorising melodies and dance steps. he writes while he has his hair done, during the four hour car drives, late into the night when he really, _really_ should be sleeping.

he can still feel seonghwa's eyes on him from where he stands in the door, so hongjoong says “ _yeah,_ ” in the least convincing tone possible.

it comes out as a troubled sigh, and hongjoong feels the way seonghwa frowns slightly, but doesn't say anything at that.

“i'll be up for a couple more hours, you know,” hongjoong says when seonghwa still doesn't leave. the lighting is low and there's a pleasant breeze from the nearby window.

“i know,” seonghwa says, and he looks like he's going to say something else, but his mouth shuts right away. “i know.”

and then he leaves, tentative steps down the hallway. hongjoong runs another hand through his hair, and exhales.

hongjoong doesn't bother to shut the window when it begins to rain.

“you should rest,” seonghwa says when finally, _finally_ , hongjoong has a spare couple of hours where he's not doing something for once.

he pushes over a freshly poured cup of tea – because coffee really is bad for him, and hongjoong is trying to cut down.

honestly though? seonghwa looks like he needs it more than hongjoong does. and hongjoong hasn't slept in almost forty-eight hours.

“are _you_ okay?” hongjoong asks, surprised at the concern that sprinkles in his voice. not that he _isn't_ concerned – he is, but he doesn't like to emphasise on that, because, well–

seonghwa freezes for a moment. actually freezes, forearms on the kitchen island. hongjoong eyes him, tries to read his expression – pursed lips and furrowed eyebrows. he's _thinking_ , he's red, he honestly looks like he's about to burst.

“you're red,” hongjoong says, nodding towards him, and seonghwa's eyes widen.

“no, i'm not.” he inhales, drops his head so hongjoong can't see him beneath the jet black hair. he's _red_ , and they both know it. “okay.”

“okay?”

“i'm okay,” seonghwa gulps, and hongjoong knows that he isn't. then again, with this kind of lifestyle, it's kind of difficult to always be _okay_. not like this. hongjoong isn't even very sure what okay _means_ , anymore.

hongjoong doesn't say anything at that, because seonghwa isn't looking at him, which means that he doesn't want to talk right now. it's something that hongjoong has picked up over the years; seonghwa is honest, and seonghwa can be an open book, but if he's not looking directly at you, there won't be any answers.

hongjoong takes a sip of his tea.

and then, seonghwa is shaking.

“a–are you _okay_?” hongjoong asks – stupidly in fact – because then seonghwa isn't just shaking, but he holds his hands, _fists_ , up to his face, and he's _crying_.

seonghwa says something, but it's muffled against his hands and hongjoong somehow doesn't get it but _does_.

“seonghwa?”

hongjoong brings himself around the island, attempts to hold seonghwa in his arms with a tentative touch. the height difference is frustrating, but seonghwa leans down, leans _close_ , and–

and seonghwa cries harder, shakes and shakes and _shakes_ , he's red and he's burning and hongjoong is the ice that calms him down.

he knows what this means. he knows exactly what this means.

“ _i'm in love with you_ ,” seonghwa manages to say, through oceanic tears, voice cracking and he's still shaking like an earthquake and neither of them can stand still.

and the worst part is that hongjoong doesn't _know_ what to say to that. not this time. he's said many things, along the lines of _i know_ and _okay_ and _i'm not sure how i feel right now_ , and it's never been what seonghwa wants, but at the same time, hongjoong isn't going to lie. he isn't.

so, hongjoong just holds him and says nothing.

it's probably better that way, anyway.

the thing is:

hongjoong doesn't know what to say. he never knows what to say. mostly because he doesn't know what he thinks, how he feels, and the words in his mind refuse to form anything coherent.

so, hongjoong doesn't say anything.

another thing? hongjoong loves seonghwa. really. hongjoong _loves_ seonghwa, and seonghwa is _in love_ with him, and hongjoong never, ever wants to mess that up.

seonghwa cries, and hongjoong lets him.

seonghwa breaks, and hongjoong tries to piece it – him (them?) together.

then, seonghwa says something along the lines of “ _i'm going to bed now_ ,” and hongjoong feels himself frown.

“we should talk,” he says, because they should. or at least, they should try. or pretend to try, because it's not like they've never talked – about _this_ – before.

seonghwa huffs, his eyes are red and his face is red, too. he pulls his sleeves over his hands, and then he folds his arms – expectantly.

“okay,” seonghwa manages to say. his voice is still shaking and hongjoong _hates_ it.

hongjoong gulps.

“seonghwa–”

“you're always busy.”

“i know.” a pause. “seonghwa, this is opening up a door that–”

“i _know_ ,” seonghwa says, and he sounds guilty – _defeated_ , when he does. of course he does. it breaks hongjoong's ribcage a little bit, shattering piece by piece as his lungs expand beyond control.

it's not just a _thing_. it's a lot of things. stretched over a period of _years_ – actual god damn years. seonghwa is in love with hongjoong, and seonghwa has been in love with hongjoong for longer than he can probably remember. and seonghwa has expressed this, time and time again, taking hongjoong's hand in his, when he's frustrated and can't control the words that escape his lips, in the dead of night, when he knows that hongjoong isn't really asleep, but he pretends that he is, anyway.

and on hongjoong's part, it's been along the lines of _acceptance_ , of _maybes_ , of _this lifestyle isn't built for us – for love, and it's terrifying because i shouldn't be but i am and i both love and and hate it and i don't know what to do_.

it's always about _this_ , about what it _is_ , and never what to _do_. what comes next.

seonghwa is still red.

“i don't want to make promises i can't keep,” hongjoong admits, runs a tired hand through his hair. it's...an attempt. an explanation, at the very least. he's _trying_.

he takes comfort in the way seonghwa's shoulders relax, but seonghwa glances away, and hongjoong doesn't know what to think.

“i don't want _promises_ ,” he sighs. and if this was a couple of years ago, hongjoong would ask what it is that seonghwa wants exactly. but they're not like that anymore, things aren't so simple anymore. they both _know_ , and hongjoong wishes that he didn't.

and then, silence.

the clock ticks. a breeze squeezes through the window, harsh and loud. seonghwa blinks – multiple times, and it takes hongjoong an embarrassingly long time to realise that he's blinking away tentative tears.

“i’m going to bed,” seonghwa tries again. and it sounds weak, eventual. it sounds like _defeat_ , because seonghwa doesn’t know what else to say. what else to _do_.

seonghwa makes his way for the door in his own swift steps, arms still folded across his chest. then, he lingers by the door for a bit, sucks in a breath, and says:

“you should finish your tea before it gets cold.” a pause. “there’s only a couple of tea bags left.”

and then, he leaves.

different month, same conversation, same ending.

it happens.

hongjoong doesn’t sleep. he can’t.

maybe he’s not trying enough, but even if he was, he wouldn’t want to sleep. not now.

the bed is uncharacteristically cold when hongjoong slides in. he lifts up the heather grey duvet – gently, tries not to wake seonghwa as he balances his body weight on the mattress.

this isn’t new. they’ve slept in the same bed – next to each other, plenty of times before. if hongjoong combs through his memory, he’s certain that the very first time seonghwa confessed was when they were in the same bed. hongjoong's bed, to be precise.

seonghwa didn’t sleep in hongjoong's bed for months after that.

he lies on his side, lets his eyes scan seonghwa’s angelic features. it’s a little too dark to see anything meaningful, but hongjoong still works them out. the soft lines of his nose and lips, the faintest hairs of his eyebrows.

the pillow is damp.

oh _, god_.

“did you finish your tea?” seonghwa asks. hongjoong startles. seonghwa's eyes are still closed, but he shifts slightly, and hongjoong doesn’t know why he’s surprised.

“yeah,” hongjoong lies. he blinks at seonghwa, at his celestial face, and inhales. “do you really want to do this?”

it takes some time, but seonghwa flutters his eyes open. he must’ve been asleep, dozing at least, because there’s still tiredness in his eyes, the same redness, and hongjoong's chest tightens.

“i wouldn’t keep trying if i wasn’t sure.”

“but–”

“and you wouldn’t either.”

hongjoong gulps at that, shuts his mouth because he simultaneously doesn’t understand what seonghwa means, yet he _does_.

hongjoong could have easily pushed seonghwa away, easily could have said _no_ or _never_ or _this is never going to work_ , but for some reason, he didn’t. it’s never once crossed his mind. it’s just–

“i don’t know how to move forward,” hongjoong admits. “seonghwa. there’s just so _much_ to consider. do we tell the others? what if the managers find out? what if one of us forgets and we end up damaging our careers? we have a whole group, a whole _company_ to consider, and i don’t–”

he pauses. because the bed suddenly starts to feel very warm, and seonghwa is biting down on his lip – _hard_. it’s awful, it’s unfair how something as simple as being in love with someone else has to be made so _complicated_.

because they both know, if it wasn’t like this, if they were regular kids in seoul, they’d move forward. they’d move and they’d move, and seonghwa would never have to cry out of frustration and disappointment because hongjoong _refuses_ to.

“i’m in love with you,” seonghwa says. and hongjoong inhales, sharply, shuts his eyes because he _knows_. he knows.

and he says this, exactly.

“ _i know_.”

the silence blankets them again, a special kind of silence, the worst kind of silence, _resignation_. because it hurts too much, because neither of them know what to say. not this time.

hongjoong gulps, eyes not once leaving seonghwa’s face. it’s dark, and hongjoong has no idea what time it is, what time he needs to be up for tomorrow. he’s pretty sure he left his notepad in his room, and he didn’t wash his mug, either.

still, seonghwa watches him, too, in his own silence. sometimes silence speaks louder than any words, than any action, any _confession_.

because, that’s another thing: hongjoong has never confessed. he’s not the type to. seonghwa says _i’m in love with you_ and hongjoong blinks three times and nods like its nothing. but it’s _something_ , they both know it’s something, because in the dead of night, hongjoong's heart soars and tumbles and burns and bleeds, and neither of them need words to know what it means.

underneath the duvet, hongjoong lifts up seonghwa’s hand. he’s hesitant, at first, and seonghwa’s hand is blazing hot, thumbs wet and nails trimmed. if he focuses enough, he can feel the veins, too.

“it’s okay,” seonghwa tells him, low and delicate and fraught. it’s somehow the best and the worst thing he can say, exactly what hongjoong needs to hear. because it _is_ okay – in a sense, and it isn’t. hongjoong doesn’t know.

hongjoong gives seonghwa’s fingers a squeeze, and he’s certain that seonghwa warms up, too.

and then, seonghwa shuts his eyes. and hongjoong tries to shut his, too, but they only flick back open and stare into the darkness as if it’ll solve... _everything_.

a final thing? they don’t move forward. they can’t. or maybe they can, but hongjoong hates the idea, and seonghwa refuses to take the first step until hongjoong does, too. so, they don’t move, they don’t change, and seonghwa cries into his pillow and says that it’s all _okay_ when it isn’t.

hongjoong inhales, shuts his eyes, and intertwines their fingers.

**Author's Note:**

> [twt](https://twitter.com/raventiques) / potential new series? idk :~)


End file.
